


A Beat in Time

by moonrise31



Series: once, twice, and again until it's over [21]
Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: Avengers cameo, F/F, dubchaeng if you squint, not angst i promise, ot9 because everyone should feel special
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 06:50:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21011549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonrise31/pseuds/moonrise31
Summary: In which Jihyo forms a team -- and Nayeon watches them disappear, one by one.





	A Beat in Time

**Author's Note:**

> For the TwiceFest Gazette fic fest! Concept in part inspired by the TWICELIGHTS opening VCR.
> 
> Quote: "It's a relief that we have you." - Nayeon's letter to Jihyo, _Elegant Private Life_

Minutes after Jihyo had vanished into thin air, Nayeon still can’t believe that she’s actually gone.

At first, it had just been a security detail assignment -- a month of night patrols for yet another expensive corporate building; the CEOs who hire their security team for these jobs are always unusually paranoid about robbers or saboteurs picking their particular company to loot and ruin out of the hundreds of thousands littering Seoul. Nayeon will never complain, because it’s easy money, but getting paid for it doesn’t make the hours fly by any faster. 

Jihyo had thought the same, because at half past two in the morning, she decided that she needed to leave their makeshift control room and stretch her legs a little. So Nayeon had been watching their video feed over Chaeyoung’s shoulder, monitoring Jihyo making her way through the building to switch with Jeongyeon, who was currently escorting Dahyun back from the bathroom. 

Then the video flashed -- just a split second of unpixelated white. When it faded back into live footage of the hallway, Jihyo was no longer there. Chaeyoung quickly panned up and down the hall, trying every angle she had access to, but then her feed went up in static. Nayeon had yelled for Jihyo, for Jeongyeon, for anyone to tell her what had just happened. No one was able to answer her before all of their communications went dead.

So now their team is split, Jihyo is probably missing, and Nayeon is trying not to panic as she races down the hallway.

She isn’t supposed to be scared; Chaeyoung is right beside her, and for all the bravado the other puts on, Nayeon knows that Chaeyoung will never get used to this -- going from a vandal with morals to a fully equipped bodyguard protecting physical people instead of intangible ideas.

Still, Chaeyoung is here, and Nayeon owes it to her to at least swallow her fear and take the next corner at a run. 

“Where are we going?” Chaeyoung pants; Nayeon refuses to acknowledge the burning in her own lungs. “Where’s Jihyo-unnie?”

“We have to get to the camera room,” Nayeon manages through gritted teeth. She tugs Chaeyoung around the corner and makes a beeline for the stairway entrance. “It’s up four floors.”

“But they hacked into my system already,” Chaeyoung says as Nayeon throws the stairwell door open. “Wouldn’t they have already taken down all of the building’s cameras?”

Nayeon lifts her chin towards the nearest blinking red light on the ceiling. “Not all of them. So the camera room is our only chance.” She takes the stairs two at a time, and Chaeyoung keeps up. Four flights later, Nayeon kicks open the door to the ninth floor. Her mind races, scrambling for the building plan details buried in the aggravated jumble of her thoughts.

“On the right,” says Chaeyoung, pulling her into the hallway. Seconds later, they burst into the camera room, and Nayeon breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of screens not lined with black-and-white static.

“Okay.” She walks closer, scanning each camera angle. “We can figure out where everyone is from here.” 

Chaeyoung pulls at her earpiece. “I guess this is useless now.”

Nayeon yanks hers out too, leaving it to dangle against her shoulder. She wants to throw it into the trash bin for all the good its stolid silence does them now, but it’s an expensive piece of equipment and Jihyo would probably have her head -- “Jihyo.” Her eyes scan the screens again. “Where’s Jihyo?”

“Jeongyeon-unnie’s still with Dahyun-unnie on the third floor,” says Chaeyoung. “Mina-unnie and Sana-unnie are together by the CEO’s office, and Momo-unnie and Tzuyu are going up the northwest stairway.” 

“Great, great,” Nayeon says under her breath. “And Jihyo? Maybe she’s already with Jeong.” 

On the screen Chaeyoung had indicated, Jeongyeon and Dahyun are walking briskly down a third-floor hallway. Then Nayeon catches movement on the monitor directly in front of her: Jeongyeon approaches the screen, stopping just in front of the desk in between her and the camera. 

Nayeon bites her lip. “There’s Jeongyeon again. But still no Jihyo.”

“Wait.” Chaeyoung frowns. “How can Jeongyeon-unnie be there? She’s here.” She points to the screen on their left, where Jeongyeon and Dahyun have only just entered an empty office of cubicles.

“What? But she’s -- hold on.” Nayeon snaps back to the other screen, which shows Jeongyeon alone and holding a coffee mug. Nayeon narrows her eyes. “Jeong’s hair is longer here. And she hasn’t worn that shirt since it got ripped during Tzuyu’s dog-sitting job.”

Chaeyoung points at the left screen. “So if that’s the real Jeongyeon-unnie...” 

Nayeon grips the edge of the control panel and leans forward, gaze glued to the monitor in front of her. “Then who’s this Jeongyeon?”  
****

**[1 March, 15:32, 2 months after the verdict]**

  
For the first time in her life, Jihyo felt herself teetering on the edge.

On the edge of what, she wasn’t so sure. Or maybe she didn’t want to be, even as it loomed over her, large as life, refusing to be ignored and just one push from sending her hurtling straight over. She was trying to stay standing, of course -- had been, for months. But it was just so difficult to balance when there were two opposite directions pushing and pulling at her, either as strong as the other -- 

“Are you alright?”

Jihyo blinked at the cup of steaming coffee that had materialized in front of her. “What’s this?”

“Okay, you’re clearly not alright.” Jeongyeon withdrew the drink enough so that Jihyo no longer had to go cross-eyed to stare at it. “You can’t even recognize the only thing you’ve been running on for the past week? I’m pretty sure that if we stabbed you right now, you’d bleed coffee.”

“I’ve only stayed up for the last two nights,” Jihyo said. She glanced down, trying to find a clear space on her desk that might accommodate another cup of caffeine. “There’s just -- there’s so much to do.”

“Not more than normal,” said Jeongyeon. She shifted a stack of papers aside before setting the drink down. “You want to tell me what’s bothering you? Nayeon didn’t do something dumb again, did she?”

“You know it’s not that.” Jihyo gathered some scattered sheets and tapped the stack against her desk to try and straighten the pages. A wayward corner nicked her finger; she hissed, dropping the papers and pulling her hand back, sucking on the knuckle to stop the bleeding.

“Oh.” Jeongyeon picked up the top file and read the heading. “The Myoui case? That was two months ago.”

Jihyo shook her head. “Don’t ask me why I’m still thinking about it. Because I don’t know either.”

“It’s not the most distressing case you’ve seen,” Jeongyeon agreed. She skimmed through the file before setting it down again. “Just some embezzlement, right? I mean, it was still bad, still billions lost, but it’s not like there was murder.”

“No,” said Jihyo as Jeongyeon slipped into the chair across from her. “There wasn’t any murder.” She fell silent, thinking again about the Myouis and their daughter -- a girl who had flown all the way from Japan just to sit in court and watch her parents take the blame for siphoning money they’d never had the chance to touch.

“It also wasn’t your case,” Jeongyeon said. She reached across the mess of a desk in between them and settled her palm over Jihyo’s whitened knuckles. “There was nothing you could have done.”

Jihyo closed her eyes and sighed. “Yeah. Nothing.” 

She glanced past Jeongyeon’s shoulder, past the walls of her cubicle in the direction she knew Detective Kim’s desk to be. He had just been doing his job, she knew, just like the rest of them. And with added pressure from one of the biggest corporations in the country bearing down like a billion won’s worth of weights, it was so much simpler to convict based on paper evidence and technicalities than to really dig into shadows that might never stop shifting.

Still, watching the proceedings from the back of the courtroom, the only thing Jihyo could remember from the moments after the verdict was how straight Myoui Mina’s back remained as her parents were escorted out of sight.

“Jeong,” Jihyo said, looking back at the other detective. “When was the last time you cried?”

“What was that dog movie we watched last week? I probably cried then.” Jihyo’s stare turned blank, and Jeongyeon squeezed her hand in apology. “What I meant was, it was very brave of Myoui Mina to wait until her parents left before she started.”

“Yeah.” Jihyo glanced down at their hands, the sting of the paper cut slicing through the rest of her thoughts. “She’s not the only case like this, you know. Remember the Chois, or the Jung case from a few years back? I’ve looked through those and more, all of these rulings made on evidence as flimsy as the papers they were printed on.” She stared numbly at the files blanketing her desk like some patchwork quilt of all that might be wrong with the world. 

Jeongyeon said nothing. 

Jihyo let out a heavy sigh. “But they were still delivered in a perfect package too good to resist, so the cases were closed and justice still hasn’t been served. And I’m just so tired, Jeong.” She looked up. “So, so tired.”

“I know,” said Jeongyeon. She lifted her shoulders in a soft shrug. “But what can you do?”

“What can I do,” Jihyo agreed. She leaned back, sliding her hand from underneath Jeongyeon’s. “I suppose when I figure that out, I can sleep again.”

Jeongyeon laughed. Jihyo stared, and the older girl’s smile turned lopsided. She reached out to pat down Jihyo’s hair. “That’s not what’s keeping you up at night. It seems like you’ve already decided, right? ”

Jihyo stayed frozen for another moment, and then let herself chuckle a little. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s actually doing what I’ve decided to do that’s the hard part.”

“I would leave too, you know,” said Jeongyeon. Her grin widened at Jihyo’s eyes widening to deer-in-the-headlights level. “And so would Nayeon, in a heartbeat. You know that.”

“No, I don’t,” Jihyo said. “Why would either of you want to leave?” She paused. “Well, I guess you would be alright with it. But you know that Nayeon loves this job more than anything.”

“Not more than _any_ thing,” said Jeongyeon. She picked up the untouched cup and stood. “I think you, out of anyone, can convince her.”

Jihyo frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean? And where are you going with my coffee? I didn’t even get to drink any.” 

“It’s cold,” said Jeongyeon over her shoulder. “And you don’t need it, because you could sleep tonight if you wanted to.”

Jihyo stared after Jeongyeon’s retreating back, biting her lip and feeling the sting at her knuckle. “If I wanted to.” And waited less than a minute before she got up, figuring that if Nayeon was anywhere to be found, it would be in the break room, and definitely not at her desk like she was supposed to be.  


>>

  
Nayeon can only blink as Jeongyeon approaches the desk once more, and the same footage begins to loop again. “What was that?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, unnie,” says Chaeyoung. She glances back to the left monitor. “Wait -- hey, where did the real Jeongyeon-unnie go?”

Nayeon turns to follow her gaze. “What do you mean? She’s right there with --” She stops. “She’s not there with Dahyun.” On the screen, Dahyun glances frantically around the entire room. But she only has the vacated cubicles for company. 

Chaeyoung heads straight for the door. “We can’t leave Dahyun-unnie alone.” 

“Chaeyoung, wait.” Nayeon grabs the other girl’s wrist. “You can’t run off by yourself when we don’t even know who we’re up against. Look.” She points at one of the monitors. “Momo and Tzuyu are on their way here. One of them will go with you, alright? Dahyun will be fine until then.”

Chaeyoung jerks out of Nayeon’s grasp. “You don’t know that, unnie. First Jihyo-unnie, now Jeongyeon-unnie. If they can disappear just like that, Dahyun-unnie doesn’t stand a chance.”

“But Chae --” The door slams, and Nayeon is left with an empty hand and a room full of screens. Then the looping clip of Jeongyeon flickers. Nayeon faces it fully once more just as Jeongyeon reappears on the screen. She’s dressed in different clothes this time, but sitting at a familiar table -- the one at the bar the team likes to drop by after completed assignments. Then the camera turns to focus on the person across from Jeongyeon.

“What the hell,” Nayeon murmurs as she leans closer once more. “What am I doing there?”  
****

**[13 April, 20:27, 3 months after the verdict]**

  
“You know,” said Jeongyeon as they slid into a booth at the corner of the bar, “for a month of being unemployed, we’re spending quite a lot on alcohol.”

“Alcohol is made precisely for being unemployed,” Nayeon scoffed. She threw her jacket onto the bench next to Jihyo before turning towards the bar. “Besides, you never know when you might get hit by inspiration.”

Jeongyeon rolled her eyes as Nayeon strode away, already waving at the barkeeper. Then she propped one elbow on the table and rested her chin in her palm. “I can’t really imagine the kind of inspiration Nayeon’s looking for, but I’m pretty sure it won’t be found here.”

Jihyo gave her a small smile, reaching across the table to pat Jeongyeon’s free hand. “I know it’s been rough, and I’m sorry for that. I probably should’ve thought this through a little better before I made you all quit with me.”

Nayeon returned, setting three bottles down on the table. The glass clinked decisively against the varnished tabletop. “You didn’t make us do anything,” she said. “Jeongyeon and I are able to make our own rash decisions, thank you very much.”

“That’s not exactly a comfort,” Jihyo muttered. She grabbed a bottle of soju and twisted off the cap. 

“So what we need is a plan,” Jeongyeon offered as she took her own bottle. 

“We have one,” said Nayeon, gesturing with her drink as she ticked off each point. “Recruit some team members, put together some team rules, and then go out and sell ourselves to anyone who’ll listen, just like any other self-respecting private security company.”

Jeongyeon shook her head. “Okay, but we’re still on step one. We haven’t been able to recruit anyone, and it’s already been more than a month.”

“It’s ironic,” said Jihyo with a sigh, rubbing at her temple. “We spent so much time figuring out how we’d interview applicants in order to get the exact team we wanted, but now we don’t even have a pool to choose from.”

“It’s not our fault that potential security operatives don’t seem to have much of an entrepreneurial spirit.” Nayeon took a long drink from her bottle. “They’d rather join an established company than some upstart start-up.” 

Jihyo exhaled again, sitting further into her seat. Nayeon lifted her arm onto the back of the bench, and Jihyo rested her head against it before turning to offer the other a grateful smile. Nayeon’s gaze mellowed for a second, like light shining through frosted glass, before she turned to face Jeongyeon. “Maybe we should just go to the recruits, instead of the recruits coming to us.”

Jeongyeon raised her eyebrows. “And how exactly do you expect to do that? We’ve already asked all of our contacts from work.”

Nayeon paused, soju halfway to her lips. “Well, no.” She set the bottle down again. “There are a few we haven’t bothered to ask yet.”

Jihyo hummed, playing with the zipper of Nayeon’s jacket. “Like who?”

“I may have copied some files from the office before we quit -- oh, wow.” Nayeon sat up, although she stopped just short of moving the arm Jihyo was still leaning on. “Check out the two that just walked in.”

Jihyo waited until Nayeon met her deadpan stare before driving a well-deserved elbow into her ribs. Jeongyeon would normally laugh, but she was too busy looking over her shoulder at the latest arrivals. “They don’t look Korean. Japanese, maybe?”

“Time to put all your anime language skills to use,” Nayeon said. Jeongyeon promptly wiped some condensation from a soju bottle and flicked the droplets at her.

“Hey!” Jihyo wiped some moisture from her face. “Don’t let me get caught in the crossfire.”

“Yeah.” Nayeon waved the bottle in her hand aggressively, although Jihyo wasn’t exactly sure of what she planned to do with it. “How dare you harm our fearless leader?”

Jeongyeon stuck out her tongue. “Bring it on, grandma.”

“I’m literally one year older than you,” Nayeon shrieked, shrill enough to rip through the general murmur in the bar. Jihyo couldn’t hold back a wince, her ear ringing even after Nayeon resorted to a string of offended gasps in response to Jeongyeon’s cackling.

“Hello, there!” 

Nayeon froze, mouth still hanging half-open. Jihyo and Jeongyeon turned to look at the two who had just approached their table. The taller of the two girls grinned back. “Everything alright, here?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nayeon cleared her throat before setting her drink back down. “Yes. We’re all fine, here.”

“Okay,” The girl said brightly. “Then is there room for us? We don’t take up that much space.”

Jeongyeon glanced around the bar. “There’s still some empty tables if you wanted one to yourself, but sure.” She moved over, and the other woman immediately slid into the vacated spot. Jeongyeon blinked at the sudden closeness. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi.” The stranger beamed. “My name is Sana.”

“I’m Momo,” Sana’s companion said with a sigh. Sana nudged Jeongyeon, who inched even further into the booth so Momo could also sit down. “I’m sorry for her -- she’ll flirt with anything that moves.”

“That’s not true,” said Sana with a bright smile and tinkling laugh as she turned to Momo. “I don’t flirt with you, for example.”

Momo rolled her eyes even as her companion continued to giggle. She dipped her head in Nayeon and Jihyo’s direction. “Again, sorry. We’ll stop bothering you.”

“Hey, just hang on a second.” Sana reached out and grabbed Momo’s elbow to stop her from leaving. “The reason we’re here is to ask if you three have seen someone.”

“Okay.” Jihyo nodded slowly. “Who are you looking for?”

“This man.” Sana pulled out a photo from the inside pocket of her jacket and slid it onto the table. “We’ve been told he’s a local.”

Nayeon first squinted, and then leaned forward to take a closer look. “He looks familiar. Wasn’t he busted for running a prostitution ring through his nightclub a few years back?”

“Yeah, that’s him.” Jeongyeon frowned. “What could you two want with him?”

Momo shrugged. “Let’s just say that Korea isn’t the only country he’s been doing business in.”

“It’s true that he escaped charges and still lives in Seoul,” said Jihyo, “but I doubt you’ll find him around this area. He would hang out in nicer neighborhoods, like Gangnam.”

“Seems like we had the wrong lead, then.” Momo swept up the picture and began to stand. “Let’s go, Sana. Sorry again to bother you three.”

“Hold on.” Nayeon pointed at Momo, and then Sana. “Are you two detectives?”

Sana shrugged, and for a moment the glint in her eyes sharpened as her smile turned sly. “Not quite.”

Nayeon frowned, the implication not quite registering, but Jeongyeon merely raised her eyebrows. “Bounty hunters?”

Momo tensed. Jihyo felt Nayeon’s arm also stiffen, and her own heart beat a little more loudly in her ears. She reminded herself that a profession didn’t define a person -- that there was no reason for Jeongyeon to not be perfectly calm sitting across the table, blocked in by two characters with little regard for rules and a large penchant for messes that may or may not be legal. 

Sana looked at Jeongyeon. Then her gaze swept over Nayeon and Jihyo before returning to the former detective beside her. “Depends on who’s asking.”

Her words hung in the air, a rockslide just waiting to drop, and Jeongyeon sat as still as ever. But Jihyo knew that under the table, she was pinching the outer seam of her pants -- a nervous tic she’d developed ever since they’d had to turn in their guns. 

“Stop that, Satang.” Momo’s sigh broke through the pounding in Jihyo’s ears. “We’re not here to cause trouble, really. But I think we’ve overstayed our welcome, so we should leave.” She nudged Sana in the side. “Now.” 

“Right.” Sana sat back. And then grinned, bright once more. “Okay, we’ll get out of your hair.”

Jihyo tried to let her breath out as quietly as possible while Sana moved to stand. But then Nayeon said, “We’re not cops, either.”

“Oh?” Sana stopped, and then tilted her head. “And why are you telling us this?”

“Yes, Nayeon,” Jeongyeon said through clenched teeth. “Why are you telling them that?”

Nayeon shrugged. “I was just wondering what the private security market over in Japan is like.”

“Why?” Momo blinked. “Are you looking for a job?”

Nayeon grinned. “Sort of. Depends on if you’re interested in finding one with us.” 

The two bounty hunters stared at her; even Sana looked a little taken aback. Jihyo cleared her throat. “The three of us are trying to start a security team.”

“Key word, ‘try’,” Nayeon cut in. 

“Yes.” Jihyo rolled her eyes. “And that was Nayeon’s very roundabout way of asking whether you’d be interested in joining.”

Momo sat back in her seat. “You mean quit our current jobs and move to Korea?”

“If you’re having trouble finding legal work in Japan, maybe you’d have better luck here,” Jeongyeon offered dryly. 

Sana and Momo paused. Jihyo tried to tell Jeongyeon through intense eye contact to stop saying stupid things. 

“What she means is that the offer is only as serious as you want it to be,” Nayeon said quickly, and Jihyo silently thanked any and all existing gods for recognizing that Nayeon and Jeongyeon needed to balance each other out in order to not leave behind a wake of constant catastrophe. “But in any case, here’s our number. If you ever need some backup now or the next time you’re here, we’d be happy to help.”

Momo reached out and took the card, skimming their names embossed on it -- an option that had cost an additional 15,000 won, but Nayeon still insisted to this day that it was worth it. “Thank you. So you’re Im Nayeon.” Momo looked up, and Nayeon raised her free hand to give a wave.

Jihyo tried for a light smile. “Right, we never introduced ourselves. I’m Jihyo, and that’s Jeongyeon.” Jeongyeon offered a stiff nod. 

“Nice to meet you -- oh.” Sana pulled out her phone and glanced at the screen. “We really do have to go, Momo. He just showed up in a pub in Gangnam.” She winked at Jihyo. “Thanks for the tip.” 

“Maybe we’ll see you around,” said Momo, stepping out of the booth. Sana slid out after her, turning to briefly wave at them and shoot them one last smile. Then the two exited the bar as swiftly as they’d entered.

“Well,” said Nayeon after a pregnant silence. “Do you think Sana would have given me her number if I asked?”

“No,” Jihyo said with another pointed nudge into Nayeon’s ribs. “Because she’s a smart woman.”

Jeongyeon snorted. “If she’s smart, she’d know to take our offer as soon as possible.”

Nayeon squinted at her. “I can’t tell whether you want them to join us or not.”

Jeongyeon shrugged, and took another sip of soju.

Jihyo wasn’t sure exactly what to expect from that encounter, but it definitely wasn’t their office phone ringing a week or so later. Jeongyeon was out meeting one of their former coworkers in a last attempt to widen their recruiting net, and Nayeon had disappeared to who knows where with only the vague promise to “be back at some point.” So Jihyo was left to lounge in her chair, propping her feet up on the one desk they’d found so far for the small office space they’d rented out.

And then the phone rang.

“Hello? This is Momo, the -- um, we met at the bar the other day.” 

Jihyo jerked up in her seat. “Oh, Momo, hi. Did you manage to catch your guy?”

“About that.” The line crackled as Momo shifted. “It’s not really panning out. Sana is getting antsy, and I’m sort of over it, too. So I was wondering if we could meet up to talk in person?”

“Oh, uh. Yeah, sure.” Jihyo glanced at the clock on the wall -- one that a wooden bird was supposed to pop out of and chirp to announce every hour. But Nayeon had gotten so annoyed with it that one day, Jihyo returned from the restroom to find a chunk of wood in her waste bin and a very silent clock for every hour after. “When do you want to meet?”

“Are you free now?”

The answer was why Jihyo found herself sitting across from Momo at a coffee shop fifteen minutes later, two steaming cups between them. 

“Where’s Sana?” Jihyo asked, fishing for words after the hesitation that had followed both of their greetings.

Momo shrugged. “She’s out somewhere. I just have to let her do what she likes sometimes, and know that she’ll always come back.”

Jihyo’s lips quirked without her thinking. “I know someone like that.”

“So.” Momo picked at the cardboard sleeve wrapped around her drink. “Does your offer still stand?”

Jihyo blinked. “Oh, right. Well, yes, of course.” She stared at Momo, who only stared right back. Then Jihyo cleared her throat, shrugging. “I was just wondering -- I mean, would you two really move all the way here and start over?”

Momo lifted her shoulders in something slightly less than a shrug. “It’s nice to have a change of pace, sometimes. Japan is getting boring, and that job we asked you about was the only one that would get us out of the country for a while. And then you three give us a new offer, so I feel like we would be crazy not to take it, you know?”

“Really?” Jihyo raised her eyebrows. “It would be crazy for you _not_ to take it?”

“Really,” said Momo -- and Jihyo, for some reason, believed her. Momo rubbed the back of her neck for a few moments, and then continued. “How do I say this? Sometimes you have to follow what you feel, instead of what you think.” She tilted her head and gave Jihyo a knowing look. “Sort of like what made three detectives want to start a private security team, right?”

Jihyo hummed. “I suppose. It took us weeks to make that decision, though, and it’s not like we had to uproot much to do it.”

“It didn’t have to take weeks,” said Momo, smiling. “Just trust yourself, Jihyo-ssi.”

And Jihyo thought there was something in that. It was the something that had made Jeongyeon push her to leave, and Nayeon to follow without a second thought. It could be disarming, too -- like how Sana slipped into their booth a few evenings ago with an easy smile and wide eyes -- or it could be warm and steady, like Momo’s gaze on the entire world as it passed her by.

“Just ‘Jihyo’ is fine,” said Jihyo. She set down her coffee cup, fingertips pink from the heat seeping through the cardboard as she held out a hand for Momo to shake. “Welcome to the team.”  


>>

  
“This is crazy,” Nayeon mutters as she watches Jeongyeon and herself walk into the bar on-screen again. “Absolutely crazy.”

The door bursts open. “Okay, we made it -- unnie?”

Nayeon whips around. Then she exhales. “Momo, Tzuyu. Thank goodness you’re here.” 

Momo gives the room a onceover. “Is it just you?”

Nayeon shakes her head. “Chaeyoung ran out to look for Dahyun. Who was with Jeong, but then Jeong disappeared just like Jihyo did.”

“Is that what’s happening?” Tzuyu steps up to the screens. “Everyone is disappearing?”

“Just Jihyo and Jeongyeon so far,” Nayeon says, turning to face the screens as well. “But there’s something weird going on -- the guy got into Chae’s feed and communications, which is why we can’t hear each other anymore. He hasn’t taken out all of the building’s cameras yet, except for this one that’s playing past security camera footage of us, somehow.”

“How is that possible?” Tzuyu switches her attention to the screen in front of Nayeon. “Oh, isn’t that Momo-unnie? At her favorite coffee shop.” 

Nayeon squints for a moment against the sudden light from the monitors. Then she blinks, and the brightness returns to normal. “Yeah, which is weird, right? Because Momo is --” She glances behind them. “Shit.”

Tzuyu looks up. “What?”

“Fuck.” Nayeon scans the entire room once, twice. “Fuck. Momo’s gone.”

Tzuyu turns fully around. “Really? How can that be?”

“That’s what I’ve been telling you.” Nayeon pushes aside a chair, and then opens the door and looks both ways. Only an empty hall greets her. “Everyone is just disappearing, and they leave literally no trace. Like what happened to Momo just now -- we didn’t even hear her go.”

“Momo-unnie?” Tzuyu calls, just in case. 

Nayeon waits a beat or two before she shakes her head and lets the door swing closed again. “So Momo’s gone too. Great.” She runs a hand through her hair, and then glances up at the screens. “Which means that if the pattern continues --”

On cue, the screen blinks to a new scene, and the display above it switches as well. 

Tzuyu frowns. “Isn’t that Chaeyoung and Dahyun-unnie’s apartment door? How could a camera get an angle that close?”

“I don’t know,” Nayeon says as she takes in the back view of herself stepping out of an elevator across from the apartment. “Unless...”

Tzuyu looks at her. “Unless what, unnie?”

Nayeon continues to stare at the screen. “Unless these are somehow Jihyo’s memories.”  
****

**[6 June, 20:06, 5 months after the verdict]**

  
“This is a bad idea,” Jihyo told Nayeon as the two of them stepped out of the elevator. “I don’t know which will be worse -- her remembering us, or her not remembering us and then finding out later.”

“Relax.” Nayeon gave the other a gentle push forward. “She’s not the type to hold grudges. Probably.”

Jihyo rolled her eyes, trying to ignore her heart echoing in her ears as it beat rapidly against her ribcage. “Great. I’m definitely reassured now.”

“Good,” Nayeon said with a grin. And then stepped up to apartment door 1020 and knocked. 

A few seconds passed. Jihyo began to think that maybe Chaeyoung wasn’t home, or had done the sensible thing and looked out the peephole before deciding against answering to two people she either didn’t recognize, or wished she didn’t. But then the door swung open, and the face on the file Nayeon had pulled out of some old box of cases she had definitely not been authorized to copy stared back at them, albeit less grainy and looking a little less like she’d spent the night in a holding cell.

“Um,” said Nayeon, putting on her best smile. “Hello. Son Chaeyoung?”

Chaeyoung blinked at them. “Do I know you?”

“You will now,” Nayeon told her. “Im Nayeon, and this is Park Jihyo. We were wondering if you’d be interested in a recruitment offer.”

Chaeyoung narrowed her eyes. “What kind of recruitment offer?”

“We’re starting a security team,” Jihyo finally said, giving what she hoped was a friendly grin. “And your skills would be a great asset.”

Chaeyoung inched the door a little more closed. “What skills could you be talking about?”

“Oh, you know.” Nayeon leaned closer, over Jihyo’s shoulder. “The skills that helped you break into the largest corporate building in Seoul, hack into all the security cameras, avoid the guards long enough to graffiti the entire top floor, and then get away with it for three months.”

Chaeyoung stared at them for two long seconds before she said, “I remember you now. Goodbye.”

“Wait.” Jihyo caught the door just before it slammed shut. She winced at the bite of the doorframe against her knuckles, but held firm. “We’re not detectives anymore.”

Chaeyoung paused, and Jihyo let out a small breath as the pressure on the door lessened. “You’re not?”

“Nope, we quit,” said Nayeon. “The law is for losers.”

“She doesn’t mean that,” Jihyo said quickly, cautiously pushing the door open again. Chaeyoung stared back at her, arms crossed and lips pressed into a thin line. Jihyo dropped her hand, letting it slide down to rest on the doorknob. “What she means is, the law is still the law. But sometimes shit happens and things you know are wrong get enforced anyway, and it sucks.”

Chaeyoung shook her head. “I don’t understand what any of this has to do with me. You don’t think that I served enough time?”

“You didn’t serve any,” Nayeon said automatically, and then cleared her throat. “Which is super cool and totally fine, by the way.”

“Again, what she’s trying to say,” said Jihyo, giving Nayeon a meaningful nudge in the ribs, “is that bygones are bygones, and you aren’t the only one who’s a little wary of the police now.”

Chaeyoung remained frowning, but uncrossed her arms and slipped her hands into her pockets. “So you two really did quit. And now you want to...what? Fight the establishment?”

Jihyo chuckled. “Not quite. I got tired of being told what fights to pick, so I thought I should just start picking my own.”

“Which led her to start a private security team,” Nayeon said. “We’ve already got another ex-detective, and a couple of bounty hunters. What we still need is someone with the technical skills, if you know what I mean.”

Chaeyoung glanced at Jihyo. “And you’d be the boss.”

Jihyo met her gaze. “Yes.”

A few moments passed before Chaeyoung blinked. Then she stepped back and shrugged. “Alright, fine. On one condition.” She paused, waiting until Jihyo had exchanged glances with Nayeon and nodded before she grinned. “You’ll have to recruit my roommate, too.”

Nayeon raised her eyebrows. “What can she do?”

A crash from somewhere further inside the apartment cut Chaeyoung off before she could reply. Over her shoulder, she yelled, “Unnie? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” a strained voice hollered back. “I just hope you weren’t attached to those bowls with the little cherries painted on them.”

“I’ll live,” Chaeyoung assured her, and then faced the two former detectives again. “She’s lucky that cherries aren’t my favorite fruit.”

“And who is she, exactly?” Jihyo said. “Your roommate, I mean.”

“Right.” Chaeyoung cleared her throat before shouting again, “Unnie! Come here. There are some people I want you to meet.”

“Oh,” said Nayeon when the roommate practically skidded around the corner and into the hallway. “Wasn’t she your lawyer?”

“The reason I got out of serving any jail time, yes,” said Chaeyoung. “Unnie, remember the detectives who arrested me last year? Detectives -- excuse me, _former_ \-- this is Kim Dahyun, my part-time lawyer and full-time roommate.”

Dahyun squinted at the two for a moment before breaking into a wide grin. “Right, I remember you two! Great work, I was impressed. It took a lot of effort for me to get Chaeng here off the hook.”

“Uh,” said Jihyo, hoping that Nayeon’s silence didn’t mean that she was gaping like some kind of bunny-toothed fish out of water. “Thanks, I think.”

“She means it,” Chaeyoung promised. “And you two know that she’s a damn good lawyer. I figure any private security team would need one of those, right?”

“She’s not wrong,” Nayeon leaned over to murmur in Jihyo’s ear. “Just think of all the shenanigans Sana and Momo are going to get into just because they claim ‘it’s legal back home’.”

Jihyo nodded immediately. “Okay. Kim Dahyun, you’re hired too, if you want to be.”

Dahyun held up her hands. “Wait, I’m going to need a moment. What’s this about detectives and security teams and being hired?” 

“They quit the force to start their own security team and want me to join, but I told them that we’re a package deal,” Chaeyoung said. And then, under the guise of a cough, added, “Especially considering that you’re between firms right now, unnie.”

Dahyun’s eyes widened in understanding. “Wow, you know what? Sounds like a great idea.”

“Great.” Chaeyoung grinned. “So I suppose you’ll want to draw up an official contract or something.”

Dahyun brightened. “I’m so glad that you support my hobby in contract-writing.” She looked at the two women still hovering semi-awkwardly in the doorway. “Why don’t you come in? It’ll take me two minutes to type something up.”

“Sure, we can discuss terms,” Jihyo finally said as she stepped across the threshold, slipping off her shoes before following Dahyun further into the apartment. 

“So are you two…?” Jihyo heard Chaeyoung say from behind her.

“Only as much as you and Kim Dahyun are,” said Nayeon, before muttering a curse as she presumably tried to undo her shoelace that Jihyo had definitely told her not to tie too tightly before they’d left.

“Gotcha,” said Chaeyoung, and Jihyo let herself smile slightly before joining Dahyun on their living room couch.

“So you’re all on board with this now?” Nayeon asked as the four of them settled down and watched Dahyun open her laptop. 

Chaeyoung shrugged. “Why not? It beats sitting around the apartment all day waiting for inspiration to strike.”

“Inspiration for completely legal things, mind you,” Dahyun cut in. Then she paused. “Actually, I guess you two aren’t the police anymore, in which case you should really check out the work she did down in Hongdae by the JYPE pop-up store.”

“But you’re okay with that?” Jihyo asked. “Working with the people who, you know.” She gestured between herself and Nayeon. “Arrested you, interrogated you, and then brought you to court to try and throw you in jail.”

“You’re doing an excellent job recruiting,” Nayeon muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

Chaeyoung shrugged again, eyes clear and smile curving her lips. “The past is the past, right? You said so yourself.”

“You also almost shut the door in our faces,” Jihyo reminded her.

“Sorry, reflex.” Chaeyoung leaned back into the couch. “But if you’re serious about leading this charge into the unknown, Park Jihyo, I’d be more than happy to follow.”

“Oh. Well, great.” Jihyo grinned. “That’s -- that’s great.”

“Done!” Dahyun held up her laptop. “You two can read it over before I print it out.”

Nayeon skimmed through the document. “How did you manage to type out two whole pages in less than two minutes?”

“It’s her passion,” Chaeyoung said, laughing when Dahyun shoved her in the shoulder. Nayeon, meanwhile, leaned against Jihyo so that the two of them could read through what Dahyun had just written up. 

“Told you,” Nayeon murmured, taking her hand. And Jihyo exhaled, her rapidfire heartbeat slowing to match the rhythm of Nayeon’s thumb brushing over her knuckles.  


>>

  
The clip cuts back to the opening elevator doors. Tzuyu shakes her head. “You’re right. These have to be Jihyo-unnie’s memories,” she says. “But how is this possible?”

“Nothing is making any sense,” Nayeon agrees. “And how come they’re only Jihyo’s, if Jeongyeon and Momo have been taken too?”

“Where are they…” Tzuyu examines the other screens. “Chaeyoung has almost reached Dahyun-unnie, at least. Sana-unnie looks like she’s almost here, too -- where’s Mina-unnie?”

“What?” Nayeon steps back to get a wider view of the screens, scanning through each feed as quickly as her eyes will allow. “She was with Sana a minute ago. Did she just disappear?”

“No, there she is.” Tzuyu points at another monitor. “In the southeast stairway. And she’s calling someone?”

Nayeon breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s a walkie-talkie. She must’ve picked it up from the building’s security office. And it looks like Sana has the other one, so at least they can keep track of each other.”

“We should get our own set of those,” Tzuyu says. “I’m surprised Chaeyoung doesn’t have them prepared already.”

“Speaking of Chaeyoung.” Panic rises in Nayeon’s throat again when she doesn’t immediately find Chaeyoung on any of the monitors. Dahyun is still in the room of empty cubicles, apparently concluding that staying in one place would be the safest option. But none of the cameras on the same floor show any movement. “Where’d she go?” 

“Unnie.” Tzuyu points at the two looping screens, which are now joined by a third and fourth in the row above them. “It’s another memory.”

“Great,” Nayeon mutters as she watches the team’s office flicker into view. “Okay, Jihyo. What are you remembering this time?”  
****

**[7 July, 14:36, 6 months after the verdict]**

  
“Hey.” Jihyo set a takeout box on Dahyun’s desk. “You haven’t had lunch yet, right?”

Dahyun didn’t look up from her computer. “Thanks, unnie. I’ll eat it soon.”

Jihyo crossed her arms. “I seem to recall you saying that you’d go get lunch ‘soon’, but that was three hours ago.”

Dahyun clicked through another page on her screen. “Chaeyoung says that time is relative.”

Jihyo sighed. “Okay, but you definitely need to eat. And as much as I appreciate you doing all of our weapons clearance paperwork, that can wait until after you’ve had lunch.”

“Alright, alright.” Dahyun saved her file and sat back, picking up the takeout box and chopsticks Jihyo held out to her. She glanced around the room as she flipped open the lid. “Where’s everyone else?” 

“Helping Sana and Momo move into their new place.” Jihyo pulled up a chair so she could sit next to Dahyun. “Nayeon went to offer them her allegedly superior taste in interior design, Jeongyeon was afraid they wouldn’t be able to decipher any of the furniture instructions and end up tearing the entire apartment down, and Chaeyoung thought that whatever came out of all this would be fun to watch.”

Dahyun chuckled. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” She slurped up a mouthful of noodles, speaking around them. “Shouldn’t you have gone with, just for extra damage control?”

“Jeongyeon’s got it covered,” Jihyo said with a quirk of her lips. She glanced out the window. “Also, it’s raining.”

“Oh.” Dahyun leaned back in her chair to take in the overhanging gray that had descended upon the city. “More motivation for me to finish this work, I guess.”

Jihyo looked at Dahyun, at her pale fingers wrapped around the chopsticks and the dark shadows under her eyes, at her hair twisted into a bun with half of it falling out or otherwise sticking out at weird angles. She waited until Dahyun faced forward again before she said, “I can help, you know. And the others can too -- we can all read and fill out forms, and then just give them to you for the final check.”

“No need.” Dahyun shook her head. “You guys are going to be doing most of the hard work once the jobs start coming in, so I should do my part whenever I can.”

Jihyo opened her mouth again, but then paused to glance back at the window. Then she stood. “Alright, but can you come with me for a second?”

Dahyun blinked at her. Jihyo stared until Dahyun set down her chopsticks and got up. “You know I haven’t finished my lunch yet, right, unnie?”

“Just come with me.” Jihyo walked out the door, only pausing to grab an umbrella resting against the wall beside it. 

Their office was only three floors from the rooftop, so Jihyo didn’t feel bad about making Dahyun take the stairs all the way up. She pulled on the door handle to the roof and let the fresh scent of rain passing across the threshold wash over her face. Then she opened the umbrella. “Come on.”

They stepped onto the rooftop, the asphalt scraping wetly beneath their shoes. Jihyo walked Dahyun all the way to the railing, the raindrops pattering against the waterproofed fabric she held above them. 

“Wow,” Dahyun breathed, looking out over the city. “It’s nice.”

“It is.” Jihyo’s gaze rested for a moment on the foggy gray that settled delicately onto Seoul’s skyline -- a ball of misty cotton that muffled the harsh city traffic and blurred building edges until they were just one dark smudge against the damp earth. 

“Do you remember the first time we met?” Dahyun asked. “Before you came around a couple of years later to recruit Chaeng.”

Jihyo hummed. “It was outside the interrogation room after we arrested her, I think.”

“Yeah.” Dahyun nodded. “I remember Nayeon-unnie sounding impressed more than anything, actually.” 

“She was,” Jihyo said with a fond shake of her head. “She was already telling me back then that we should be recruiting Chaeyoung instead of booking her.”

Dahyun laughed. “It all worked out in the end.”

“Seems that way,” Jihyo agreed. 

“I’m glad it did,” said Dahyun. “I’m glad that you and Nayeon-unnie showed up at our doorstep. I’m glad that Sana-unnie and Momo-unnie decided to move entire countries, and I’m glad that Jeongyeon-unnie told you to quit.”

“I’m glad too,” Jihyo said, turning to look at Dahyun.

Dahyun met her gaze. “I’m really, really glad, unnie. Which is why I also really, really want to help this team in every way I can. Even if it means some missed meals, or some missed hours of sleep. I want to do my part, you know?”

Jihyo nodded. “I know. And you know what would help with that?” 

Dahyun shook her head. 

Jihyo smiled, and then dropped the umbrella.

Dahyun gasped when the first wave of rain pelted against her head and shoulders. Jihyo’s own sharp inhale melted into a soft sigh as the calm chill seeped from her clothes and into her skin. Because here, on a single rooftop out of the hundreds of thousands dotting the cityscape, the rain washed away the tension in Dahyun’s back and the weights pulling at the corners of Dahyun’s lips.

So Jihyo opened her own mouth and laughed, too.  


>>

  
Sana stumbles into the room just as the view pans away from Dahyun’s grin. Tzuyu immediately steps back to catch her before she falls onto her face.

“Great, you two are here,” Sana pants as she finds her feet again. “Mina and I were so worried when everyone just cut out all of a sudden.” She lifts the walkie-talkie to her mouth. “Mina, I’m here with Nayeon-unnie and Tzuyu.”

“Thank goodness,” Mina’s voice crackles from the speaker. “Nayeon-unnie, what’s happening?”

“We’re not sure,” says Nayeon, turning back to the screens. “Some of the cameras are still working, and we have eyes on you and Dahyun. But the others are gone.”

“Gone?” Sana comes up to stand beside her. “What do you mean by gone?”

“They just disappear,” Nayeon says, her tired monotone ringing in her own ears as much as it does in the room. “First, it was Jihyo. Then Chaeyoung and I saw Jeongyeon vanish, so Chaeng went off to find Dahyun, but she disappeared before she could reach her. Momo and Tzuyu made it here too, but Momo was gone as soon as we turned our backs.”

“There are these screens.” Tzuyu gestures at the four monitors displaying the past rainy rooftop of their office building. “It’s like they’re showing Jihyo-unnie’s memories. And each time a new one plays, another one of us disappears.”

Sana narrows her eyes. “So Jihyo was the first one to go missing, and it’s her memories that keep playing?” She watches the most recent clip roll. “This one just has her and Dahyun, right? Does this mean --”

“Fuck,” Nayeon stares at the empty room of cubicles on the screen, forcing her next words out through gritted teeth. “Dahyun’s gone. I just blinked, and now she’s gone.” Then Mina walks into view of the camera.

“Mina!” Sana yells into the walkie-talkie. “You need to get out of there. Now.” 

“But Dahyun,” Mina’s voice trembles even over the static. “I just saw her. One -- one second she was there, and then there was a flash or something and I looked away for just a second. And when I turned back, she was...”

“Unnie.” Tzuyu taps at Nayeon’s elbow. “Another one is playing.” Nayeon refocuses her attention to the now seven screens looping one of Jihyo’s memories. Her eyes widen just as Tzuyu says, “I think I’m next.”  
****

**[15 November, 21:56, 10 months after the verdict]**

  
“Unnie?”

Jihyo looked up from her computer. The glaring digits at the bottom corner of her screen told her it was almost ten in the evening, but she was determined to finish their budgeting for the month, especially after Nayeon had somehow managed to convince her to push it off for the past two weeks. 

Tzuyu stood in front of her, a file folder in her hands. Jihyo leaned back and rubbed at her eyes. “You can go, Tzuyu. I didn’t mean for you to stay this late.”

“It’s okay, I wanted to help.” Tzuyu set the folder down on her desk. “I think these are the last numbers that you need.”

Jihyo picked up the files and flipped through them, heaving a sigh of relief. “You’re a lifesaver. I’ll just enter these and then we’ll be done.” She paused at the last page. “Wait, what’s this?”

“Budgeting for a future assignment that we should take,” said Tzuyu.

Jihyo glanced up; Tzuyu’s expression remained blank. “And what assignment would that be?”

“It’s one that my old coworker recommended,” Tzuyu said. “It pays well, and I think that our team is best suited for it.”

Jihyo skimmed the lines again as she pondered. “Your old coworker, you said?” She remembered when Tzuyu had first joined -- one of the few who had actually answered Jeongyeon’s original job posting. And the only one they’d decided to hire because, as Nayeon put it, someone with that much redacted previous experience on her resume must be either a secret agent or a notorious criminal, and either would probably be fine at this point.

In any case, on Tzuyu’s first day, Nayeon had asked her to give the group two truths and one lie about herself as part of a bonding exercise. To which Tzuyu had said, “I have a scar on my shoulder from when someone tried to assassinate the president in the Blue House, I shot someone in the knee with an arrow once but it was an accident, and I have a dog named Gucci.”

“She looks like she could have a dog,” Dahyun had stage whispered to Chaeyoung. And Jihyo had figured that someone would at least want to see the scar, but even Sana seemed too intimidated to ask anything besides whether the Blue House was actually blue.

So now, Jihyo cleared her throat and said carefully, “I’m not sure we would have the…_clearance_ for whatever your former coworker has in mind.”

“He’ll get us the job,” Tzuyu said. “And he arranged most of the logistics already. The assignment isn’t due to start until April of next year, so we have plenty of time to arrange everything.”

Jihyo narrowed her eyes at a particular line of numbers. “Tzuyu, this plan calls for nine team members. We only have eight.”

“Yes.” Tzuyu nodded. “So we should get another member.”

Jihyo set the files down before resting her elbows on her desk, pitching her voice to be as gentle as she could. “I’m all for recruiting, but this isn’t something that we can just make happen. It took us almost a year to get eight, and honestly we had to run ourselves ragged to even manage that much.”

“You’ll find someone, unnie,” said Tzuyu, steady as ever. “And there’s plenty of time to do it.”

Another reason against the proposition sat on the tip of Jihyo’s tongue, but Tzuyu’s earnest gaze made her hesitate. Because for someone who had joined just a few weeks ago, the staunch belief already in Tzuyu’s eyes was something Jihyo was not used to seeing. It wasn’t the reckless stubbornness from Nayeon or the quiet determination from Jeongyeon that made them follow her from the start. And it wasn’t the soft satisfaction Momo got after a completed job, or the wholehearted cheerfulness Sana always slipped into around the people she’d grown to care for the most. 

It could have been like Dahyun’s rainy rooftop confession a few months ago, or Chaeyoung’s nonchalant acceptance that everything will happen exactly the way that it’s supposed to. But the light in Tzuyu’s eyes spoke of something deeper, more resolute than anything Jihyo could probably ever imagine. A light that shone bright enough for more than herself, just so no one else would notice the loss.

“Trust me,” Tzuyu said. “I’ve been on a lot of teams before.” She paused, jaw tightening. “And this one...this one is going to be the one, okay?”

“Okay,” Jihyo said quietly, thinking of the censored lines on Tzuyu’s resume and every heartbreak blackened out of existence by a single stroke. “We’ll find someone.”

“Great.” Tzuyu’s shoulders relaxed as she smiled. “Thank you, unnie.”

Jihyo hummed, glancing down at the file again. Finally, the phrases “international espionage conference” and “canine overseer” registered. She looked up, eyebrows raised. “Are you telling me that this assignment is dog-sitting for the world’s greatest spies while they meet in South Korea and try not to kill each other?”

Tzuyu nodded vigorously, smile stretching into a full grin. “It’ll be so fun!”

And Jihyo couldn’t find it in herself to say no to that, either.  


>>

  
“Nayeon-unnie,” Sana says.

Nayeon doesn’t turn around. Her eyes sting from the monitors’ glare, but she refuses to blink. “Don’t tell me. Tzuyu is gone.”

“Mina is almost here,” Sana offers instead.

“Does it even matter?” Nayeon sighs, finally turning to meet Sana’s sad eyes. “I don’t get how this is happening. How can he -- or they -- move around so fast, and even take people from right under our noses? How can we fight against someone we can’t even see?”

Sana takes a step closer. “I don’t know,” she says, and opens her arms. 

Nayeon closes her eyes as she falls into the hug. “Don’t go, Sana. Please.”

“I’ll try my hardest,” Sana says, tone light, and Nayeon chooses to ignore the cracks. Then she feels Sana stiffen. “Mina’s on-screen.”

“Good,” Nayeon starts, glancing over her shoulder. “That means she hasn’t -- oh.” Almost the entire wall of monitors is now filled with Jihyo’s memory. Nayeon sees herself sitting across from Mina in a conference room. And she desperately wants the minutes that play out afterward to be from some other life she no longer knows, because she can’t bear to watch as it takes everyone from her -- like grieving for winter’s last icicle as it shrinks under the unforgiving sun, one droplet at a time. 

“Mina,” Sana whispers, voice breaking, and Nayeon can only stare as her own heart begins to do the same.  
****

**[2 January, 16:17, 12 months after the verdict]**

  
Jihyo ran into Myoui Mina again a year after their first meeting. And yet, Mina didn’t even look a day’s worth of difference from the straight-backed girl crying in the shadows outside of the courtroom -- the same girl who had graciously accepted a single tissue as all that Jihyo could offer.

It twisted Jihyo’s heart even now, and it took all she had to even make eye contact. But she had a job to do, and she reminded herself of this as she, Nayeon, and Mina gathered in a spare conference room owned by the bigshot CEO who had employed them to protect him from some particularly nasty death threats.

Mina sat down across the table from them, her left arm snug in a makeshift sling. “Do you need to take my statement?” she asked, voice as soft as that day in court. But there were no tears this time, and this steadied Jihyo’s heart, if only a little.

“We’re not the police,” said Jihyo. “We’re just the team hired to protect your boss.”

“Which we did successfully,” Nayeon added. She nodded at Mina’s arm. “Thanks to your help, of course.”

Mina’s cheeks reddened, and she looked down at the table. “It was stupid, really. I’m glad I was able to get him out of the way, but anyone else would have done it better if I hadn’t been there.”

“But we weren’t,” Nayeon said. “Which a certain Yoo Jeongyeon will have to answer for, once she stops hiding behind her other responsibilities.” 

“If she wasn’t the one taking the police’s questions, it would be you,” said Jihyo, pinching Nayeon lightly in the side. “And it wasn’t anyone’s fault. We were just unlucky that the shooter had a secret entrance, and lucky that Mina-ssi was where she was. Which brings me to why I asked you here.” She turned back to Mina. “Would you like to work with us?”

She heard rather than saw the short-circuiting of Nayeon’s brain behind her, but was too busy meeting Mina’s wide-eyed stare to make fun of Nayeon for it. So Jihyo barely registered being dragged out of the room after Nayeon’s quick, “Would you excuse us for a moment, please?” 

“What?” Jihyo asked when Nayeon had them both in the hallway and Mina hidden behind a closed door.

“You want to recruit Myoui Mina?” Nayeon ran a hand through her hair, and Jihyo’s eyes followed the motion absentmindedly. “The poor girl who made you quit being a detective in the first place?”

“That decision was mine, not hers.” Jihyo shrugged. “Look, she knows better than any of us that the world is unfair. I thought we might as well give her a chance to fight back a little.”

“Okay, fine, the world owes her something, and maybe we could help her get her dues.” Nayeon crossed her arms. “But having her join the team? Are you feeling alright?”

“Perfectly fine, thank you.” Jihyo rolled her eyes. “Look, I know she doesn’t have much prior experience. But I also saw her jump in the line of fire to trip the assailant and ultimately save her boss, so I’m willing to not write her off right away.”

Nayeon sighed, and then let her arms fall to her sides. “Well, you’re the leader, Jihyo. You make the call.”

“Hey, I need you on this too.” Jihyo reached out, grabbing Nayeon’s hand. “I’m not sure she’ll be convinced so easily.”

“That goes without saying,” Nayeon snorted. But she ran a comforting thumb over Jihyo’s knuckles. “Who in their right mind would jump from a cubicle job to one with a private security team? She looks like the one who should be doing the hiring, not the one who’s being hired.”

Jihyo raised her eyebrows. “Are you saying that she’s pretty?”

“I have eyes,” Nayeon scoffed. “I’m just making a scientific observation. Objectively speaking, she’s pretty. You’re pretty. I’m pretty. We’re all pretty.”

“Right.” Jihyo grinned, tugging Nayeon a step closer. “Which is why we need _you_ to convince her.”

Nayeon raised her eyebrows. “Me?”

“You,” Jihyo confirmed. “Because you’re pretty, and I think she has a crush on you.”

“Oh.” Nayeon blinked a few times. Then she said, “Well, of course she has a crush on me. Who doesn’t?” And flipped the entire volume of her hair over one shoulder.

“I don’t,” Jihyo deadpanned.

“Right.” Nayeon paused. And then grinned, leaning forward so her next words brushed past Jihyo’s cheek. “I suppose we’re past the crushing phase.”

Jihyo chuckled. She turned her head just a little to press her answer at the corner of Nayeon’s lips. “That’s right.” And smirked as Nayeon’s inhale stopped midway. 

“Well,” Nayeon managed, voice strained. “I usually am. Right, I mean.”

“Exactly,” Jihyo murmured, dragging her fingertips lightly up Nayeon’s arm. She waited for Nayeon’s eyes to flutter closed before she abruptly stepped back. “So help me recruit her to the team, please?” She grinned, squeezing Nayeon’s hand once before letting go. 

It took Nayeon a few moments to blink herself out of her daze. But once she did, her bottom lip pushed out into a pout that Jihyo could only just resist kissing away. “You’re a tease, you know that?” But she still reached towards the door, swinging it open so abruptly that Mina almost jumped out of her chair.

The room fell silent, and the only movement Mina made was flicking her gaze from one former detective to the other.

Finally, Nayeon smiled. “So, Myoui Mina, right?” She barely gave Mina time to nod before she continued, “Have you thought about our offer?”

Mina suddenly became very interested in the far corner of the room, glancing away from Nayeon. “About joining your security team?”

“That’s right.” Nayeon walked up to the conference table, dropping into the chair she’d vacated a few minutes previously, and also back into Mina’s line of sight. “You definitely have what it takes -- I mean, once your arm is healed.” She pointed at Mina’s cast. “It might even leave a cool scar, so that’ll give you bonus intimidation points.”

Mina’s cheeks colored again, and she looked down at her arm. “I...I could think about it.”

“That’s all we ask,” Nayeon said, smile brightening. She slid a card across the table. “There’s our number if you have any questions, or want to discuss anything. Our door is always open for you.”

Mina picked up the card with her good hand, finger running lightly across the embossed print. “Thank you.”

Jihyo cleared her throat. “Well, we should get going, then. Jeongyeon’s probably done with the interview by now, and we have to find the others -- make sure that Momo hasn’t raided the break room refrigerator, and Tzuyu hasn’t picked up any stray dogs.”

“Right.” Nayeon stood up and dipped her head at Mina. “Hope to hear from you soon, Mina-ssi.”

Mina returned the bow. “Have a good evening, Nayeon-ssi. And, Jihyo-ssi?”

Jihyo stilled, one foot already out of the room. She turned around to politely smile at Mina. “Yes?”

“I’m not sure if you remember, but.” Mina’s lips wavered, just the slightest upturn at the corners. “Thank you for the tissue.”

Jihyo could only manage a nod. But she left the building with lightened shoulders and Nayeon’s elbow brushing against hers.  


>>

  
“Mina?” Sana whispers. “Minari, are you there?” Static answers her, and she slowly lowers the walkie-talkie.

“Sana.” Nayeon slips the device out of Sana’s grasp and lets it drop onto the floor. “Stay with me, okay? I can’t lose you too.”

Sana sniffs, and then nods. The glint in her eyes returns as she grabs Nayeon’s hand. “He can’t take both of us at once, right?”

“Not so far, anyway.” Nayeon reaches behind them and locks the door. “Are there still any screens that actually show the building?”

Sana shakes her head. “Not that it was doing us much good in the first place.” Then she inhales sharply. 

“Which one is it now?” Nayeon turns to look.

“I see all of us.” Sana trails off. “But I think this is the night that Jihyo and I had our first real heart-to-heart talk.”

Nayeon swallows. She tightens her grip on Sana’s hand, feeling Sana’s tense in return. 

And yet, Nayeon can already imagine Sana gone with not even so much as a glaring white flash -- as if she has never been there at all.  
****

**[13 April, 23:27, 15 months after the verdict]**

  
Jihyo didn’t remember at exactly which point in the night the bar started to spin, but it was sometime after Tzuyu quietly planted her face against the table and began to snore, trapping Jeongyeon inside the booth immediately after the latter had announced that she had to go to the bathroom.

This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, although usually Jihyo was better at controlling her alcohol intake. But Tzuyu’s dog-sitting job had been their first completed assignment as nine, and she figured that they owed it to someone, anyone, to let loose a little more than usual afterwards -- especially since Jeongyeon’s wardrobe was down one shirt, and Jihyo was now converted entirely into a cat person.

“Hey, leader.” Sana slid into the seat next to Jihyo. “How are you doing?”

“Great,” Jihyo said, words fuzzy in her mouth. She leaned back in her seat and wondered where Nayeon was; she vaguely remembered some sort of shots competition with Mina, of all people, but Nayeon was prone to challenge anyone who looked her way after her first bottle of soju, and Jihyo’s recollection of the identity of the unfortunate victim this time around was admittedly blurry. 

Jihyo turned her head to look at Sana. She blinked, suddenly struck with clarity by the first time Sana and Momo had walked into this bar, an entire year ago. She thought about how quiet yet assured Momo had been, and how Sana’s eyes shone brighter than any light she’d ever seen. Like they were looking into the future, already realizing how brilliant it could be. 

Sana cooed. “I’m flattered, Jihyo. I didn’t realize you liked staring into my eyes that much.”

“Did I just say that out loud?” Jihyo mumbled, exerting great effort to blink again. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

Sana hummed. “You did say it out loud, but that’s okay. I know Nayeon-unnie stares into my eyes a lot, too.”

“Nayeon.” Jihyo sat up, but then room tilted and she felt like she should tilt with it. She leaned into Sana, head coming to rest on Sana’s shoulder. “Where is she?”

“Trying to convince Chaeyoung not to smoke her contraband in public, I think.” Sana twisted in her seat to look across the room. “Where does that kid get all that stuff, anyway?”

“If we knew,” said Jihyo, “our old friends at the station would be getting a lot of anonymous tips.”

“Maybe it’s better that you don’t know, then,” Sana said, turning back to Jihyo. “She shares with me sometimes.”

Jihyo hummed, ticking off another name on her mental attendance checklist. It was hard to keep track of everyone tonight, considering that her team kept wandering around the entire bar; and she couldn’t keep the names from moving around in her head, either.

Sana let her furrow her brows for a few more serious moments before saying, “What are you thinking about?”

“Everyone’s here, right?” Jihyo managed to sit up and begin counting off on her fingers. “Jeongyeon is in the corner, crawling under the table because Tzuyu is sleeping and blocking her from the bathroom. You’re here. Nayeon is,” she waved her hand at somewhere behind Sana, “there with Chaeyoung. Tzuyu is -- wait, I said Tzuyu already. Momo? Oh, there’s Momo.” She pointed at Momo, who was leaning across the table to poke at Tzuyu’s cheek while making absolutely no effort to move her legs out of Jeongyeon’s way.

“Mina’s passed out where she beat Nayeon-unnie at shots, but Dahyun’s watching her,” Sana supplied. “Dahyun’s staying sober for tonight, probably because she’s still hungover from last week.”

“That’s cute,” said Jihyo. She returned her head to Sana’s shoulder. “I’m tired. And happy,” she added. “I’m really happy.”

“Good,” Sana murmured. She reached up and smoothed Jihyo’s hair with the palm of her hand. “Because we are too, you know. Really happy.”

Jihyo squinted, but mostly at nothing. “You and Momo?”

“Me and Momo, and Jeongyeon and Tzuyu and Chaeyoung, and Mina and Dahyun,” said Sana. She turned her head to press a soft kiss against Jihyo’s. “And Nayeon-unnie. We’re all really, really happy.”

“Good,” Jihyo breathed. She closed her eyes. “That’s good.” 

Sana let the silence weigh in for a moment before she chuckled. “Are you going to throw up?”

“Maybe,” said Jihyo.

“Thought so.” Sana somehow managed to slide her shoulder out from under Jihyo’s head without disturbing her original position too much. “Come on, let’s get you to the bathroom.”

Jihyo used most of her focus to put one of her feet in front of the other as they made their way to the toilet. At some point, she registered a red-faced Nayeon yelling, “Be careful, Minatozaki. You do, in fact, flirt with Momo, which with my excellent skills of deduction, means that you really don’t pass up on anything that moves.” She pointed at her own pair of heavy-lidded eyes before jabbing the same finger at Sana. “So I’m warning you.”

“I have only the chastest of intentions,” Sana promised. “Dahyun, take care of Nayeon-unnie too, please?” 

Jihyo was left to wonder at what point and from where Sana had learned the word “chastest”, which occupied her until they arrived at the bathroom just in time to meet a very relieved-looking Jeongyeon walking out of it.

“Thanks,” Jihyo mumbled into the toilet bowl a few minutes later, head clearing but still not quickly enough.

“Don’t mention it,” Sana laughed, passing her some toilet paper. Then her voice softened, and Jihyo could never quite remember -- even hours later -- what she heard next. Although if she’d thought to ask, Sana would gladly have repeated it for her.

“Really, Jihyo. We should be thanking you.”  


>>

  
Nayeon clenches her empty fist, nails digging into her palm until she can no longer feel the pinch. For once, she wishes the looping clips had audio, just so something else would fill this empty room besides the angry rush of blood to her head.

“Okay,” she says. “Okay,” she says again, raising her voice. “I’m the last one, right? Just come and take me too.” She whirls around and storms towards the door, flipping the lock and throwing it open. “Well?” She yells into the hallway. “What are you waiting for?”

She spins to face the room again, and almost screams. A hooded, faceless figure stands in front of her, silver clothes flashing like metal that has been polished beyond its worth. The glare from the monitors reflects off where the face should be, and Nayeon resists the urge to look away.

“So you’re the one who’s been taking us?” She pulls out her gun and aims it at the figure’s chest. “Give them back. All of them. Give them all back or I’ll shoot.”

The figure slowly raises one hand. The monitors flicker again, and Nayeon recognizes the break room now displayed on the screens, and a zoomed-in view of her own smile spreading across her face as the camera -- Jihyo -- walks in. 

“That’s a dirty trick,” Nayeon growls, aim steadying. “My hair looked terrible that day.”

The figure pauses, hand hovering in midair. Nayeon thinks for a moment that it shakes its head, but it must be a trick of the light. 

And then she sees it -- the ring on the figure’s index finger, glinting in the glare just like the one on the finger Nayeon has curled around the trigger. 

Nayeon lowers her gun. “Jihyo?”

The silver shine within the hood shifts, and Nayeon catches sight of Jihyo’s eyes for the briefest of moments before the blank reflection returns. She quickly holsters her gun and dashes forward. “Jihyo!”

She barrels into the figure, who remains silent even as Nayeon knocks her back a step. But she’s warmer than Nayeon had been afraid to imagine, and Nayeon holds onto this like a lifeline as she hugs the figure more tightly.

“Jihyo,” she whispers. “Come back to us. Come on. You can fight this.”

The figure stays still. Nayeon’s gaze falls onto the screens, where her face is still being broadcasted twenty times over: hair slightly mussed from a day’s worth of work, but eyes twinkling and lips pulled into a grin that says she owes Jihyo the entire world. 

“I do,” Nayeon says, squeezing her eyes shut. “I do owe you at least that much. So please, Jihyo, come back.”

The room brightens. Nayeon holds on even as the light threatens to blind her through her eyelids. And just before her world fades into white, Nayeon feels Jihyo’s arms wrapping around her waist, exactly where they’re supposed to be.  
****

**[1 March, 15:46, 2 months after the verdict]**

  
“What the fuck,” Nayeon screeched. The other officers in the break room didn’t even turn around, which Jihyo was grateful for, for once. “You asked Jeongyeon before you asked me?”

Jihyo rolled her eyes, Jeongyeon’s words and retracted coffee still fresh in her mind. “Okay, first of all, it wasn’t as much me asking as it was her offering.” Jihyo shoved the other’s enraged face out of her own, palm pressing against Nayeon’s mouth. “And in either case, admit it. Out of the three of us, you like this job the most.”

Nayeon stilled. Because it was true: Jeongyeon would have already quit years ago if she wasn’t constantly afraid of Nayeon or Jihyo losing an arm while out on a case. Not that her still working as a detective really helped, but it provided at least a mental comfort. 

As for Nayeon, she saw the law as being there for them to enforce it, and no matter how many tantrums she threw over cold coffee and bungled evidence and the weight of all the evil in the world, she still liked this -- being on the right side.

Jihyo had told herself many times over on the way to the break room that she would be okay if Nayeon refused to leave with her. It’s not like they would be on opposite sides of the law now; it would be hard to go about her workday without Nayeon annoying every single corner of it, but she’d manage.

“Okay.”

Jihyo blinked. “What?”

“Okay,” Nayeon grumbled, tugging Jihyo’s hand away from her face -- and her lips, the tingling on Jihyo’s palm belatedly informed her. “Okay, I’ll go with you.”

Jihyo couldn’t even feel her own mouth move. “You’ll what?”

Nayeon rolled her eyes. “Leave with you and Jeongyeon. Be your partner in whatever new thing you’re dreaming of doing instead.”

“Unnie,” Jihyo said, and watched the other still. Jihyo slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out her badge. Her fingertips ran along its edges, the coolness seeping into her skin and up to the bones in her wrist. She placed it on the counter beside the working coffee machine, the quiet clatter echoing above the drone of instant espresso. “This isn’t something you can just walk back to if you decide that you don’t like leaving.”

“It won’t come to that,” said Nayeon. “You’ve had your fill of this business, and I’ve had mine.”

Jihyo’s jaw clenched. “You weren’t at the courtroom that day, Nayeon. And you told me afterwards that it couldn’t be helped. That it was for the best that Myoui Mina’s parents serve time for a crime they didn’t even commit.”

Nayeon shrugged. “Well, I lied. So sue me for trying to help you feel better. Don’t,” she held up a finger, “actually sue me.” 

Jihyo scoffed, crossing her arms. “I’m not joking.”

“I’m not, either,” said Nayeon. “I was wrong, okay? Rules matter, but doing what’s right does too. And,” her lip twitched, “for someone who’s asking me to leave, you’re trying awfully hard to get me to stay.”

Jihyo sighed, and then dropped her arms again. “I just want you to be sure. I know this job means the world to you.”

“I’m sure.” Nayeon stepped closer. “And let’s not exaggerate -- yes, I really like being a detective. But it’s not what matters most to me.”

Jihyo swallowed. Nayeon reached out, and Jihyo let their fingers thread together.

“I’ll follow you wherever you go,” Nayeon said, and the honesty of it settled calmly at the base of Jihyo’s throat. 

Jihyo attempted a scoff. “You’d still complain about it the entire time.”

“Well,” said Nayeon, “you asked for a partner, not a miracle.” She reached into her pocket with her free hand. And then tossed her badge onto the table, the metal clattering against Jihyo’s before it skittered to a stop. Jihyo briefly thought of what they were throwing away -- that dull gleam that she hated and cherished at the same time. Then Nayeon was in front of her again, still holding her hand. 

Jihyo stared. Nayeon smiled and raised her eyebrows, like she was trying to convince Jihyo to give her the last cookie in the break room snack platter beside them.

“You’re right,” Jihyo said with a laugh. Then suddenly stepped forward to pull Nayeon close, enjoying the breath of air she’d startled out of the other. 

“And?” Nayeon murmured, arms immediately coming up to wrap around her waist. 

Jihyo turned her head to bury her face into the lapel of Nayeon’s jacket. “And I guess that’ll just have to do.”  


>>

  
Nayeon regains consciousness to Jihyo shaking her shoulder. “Nayeon. Nayeon-unnie. Unnie, wake up!”

Nayeon slowly opens her eyes, and feels tears prick at the corners when she sees Jihyo hovering over her. “You’re back.”

“I’m...back, I guess,” Jihyo agrees. And then yelps when Nayeon abruptly sits up, pulling her close.

“Good.” Nayeon breathes. “Good.”

“Hey,” Jeongyeon calls out from behind them. “We’re here too, you know.”

Nayeon pulls away just enough to look around the room. Her heart calms one more beat with every face she counts. “You are. You all came back.” She laughs. “I can’t believe it.”

Mina clears her throat. “So, does anyone have any idea what that was?”

Chaeyoung shrugs, jerking a thumb at a monitor behind them. “Not sure. As far as I can tell, Nayeon-unnie beat the bad guy somehow, who may or may not have possessed Jihyo-unnie. But we can’t find him anywhere. I called for backup a few minutes ago and told them the whole situation, and not gonna lie, I think Iron Man walked in just now.”

“Wait, really?” Jihyo straightens to look at the screens, although both hands remain firmly on Nayeon’s shoulders. “Is Thor with him?”

“Who cares?” Sana pulls the two people on either side of her -- Momo and Dahyun -- in for a hug. “What’s important is that we are all here. Together.” 

Tzuyu nods. “I’m glad we all made it out.” Jeongyeon hums, offering her hand, and Tzuyu takes it.

“Okay, bring it in.” Dahyun waves everyone closer with the gravitas of a high school sports coach. “Group hug.”

“Is anyone hungry?” Momo asks. “I don’t know how it was for you guys, but being blinked into nothing and then brought back into something really worked up my appetite.” Sana rolls her eyes before tugging Momo forward, and the nine of them draw into a pile of back pats and accidental elbows in ribs, equal parts screeches and laughter.

Nayeon finds herself squished against Mina, but Jihyo is tucked into her other side amidst the fray. “Hey,” Jihyo murmurs in her ear. “The others were telling me that it was my memories you were watching on the screens over there.”

“Yeah,” Nayeon murmurs back. “It was weird seeing myself like that.”

Jihyo takes the bait. “Like what?” 

“Like a goddess, really,” says Nayeon. “I know I’m hot, but wow, you really do worship me, huh?”

“In your dreams.” Jihyo pinches her, and Nayeon can’t even pretend that she doesn’t deserve it. 

Dahyun whines that Tzuyu’s shoulders are too far to reach, and Jeongyeon asks if Dahyun forgot to wear her insoles. Chaeyoung readily comes to Dahyun’s defense, but it’s hard to hear over Sana mid-collapsed on the floor laughing while Momo complains that she’s being choked. Even Mina screams a little when Tzuyu suddenly stands at her full height, dragging half the circle up with her.

Nayeon yells, too, but then catches her breath. “Really, though,” she says. “Watching all of those memories that you have of the team, of everyone, made me realize something.” 

Jihyo’s face is hovering so close that Nayeon can feel the warmth from her smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nayeon whispers. “And I just want to say that -- that it’s a relief that we have you, Jihyo.” She turns and nudges Jihyo’s cheek with her nose. “Such a relief. You know that, right?”

Jihyo chuckles. The arm Nayeon didn’t realize Jihyo still has around her shoulders shifts, and the next feeling Nayeon knows is Jihyo’s hand turning her face to brush their lips together in the briefest of kisses.

“I love you too,” Jihyo says, resting her forehead against Nayeon’s. “I love everyone, of course, but also you.”

Nayeon laughs, ignores Jeongyeon’s protests from across the circle about excessive displays of affection, and pulls Jihyo back in.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on twitter please come and say hi @moonrise31


End file.
